Clean Kills and the Demonic Notebook
Ah, what a hilarious expression. The warmth fades, leaving a chilly sensation as I take in the sight of those lumpy, rice-cake-dough-like clumps.
One monster and seven villains trying to wrap up the unconscious man and stuff him into a black van. I land silently, and my hammer—no, magic wand—naturally manifests in my grip as I swing it.
Spluuurt! With the satisfying pop of water balloons bursting, three silhouettes scatter, splattering filthy stains everywhere. I hit them lightly, so no mana sparks fly. Behind the sweet, burning aroma comes the familiar metallic tang of blood mixed with a nasty stench.
Ugh, shit smell. It won't stick to the wand, but it's still gross. Ah, does that mean dirty particles are getting into my nose? Holy crap, realizing this now! I'll just click and purify it later.
"Wh-what?!"
"M-monster!"
Huh? Magical boy? No response as I swing the wand again, adding two more filthy stains. Not that I'd answer anyway. Talking's a hassle. The easy phrases I can manage are: "Bag, please." "No need." "Here for meds." "Yes." "No." "I'm outside." Anything else takes effort!
The monster scribbles in some weird notebook while the other two hurriedly toss the man into the van and pull out guns. Lame. But since it's outdoors, they've got those silencer-fitted pistols you see in movies sometimes. Back in my uncle's heyday when I was obsessed with FPS games, I might've known the model. Who cares? It's a pistol anyway. Genres where you get headshot and lose interest? Not worth the brainpower.
Pop, pop, pop, pop. Unlike the guys firing wildly, the monster mutters something. Incense smoke drifts serenely, shattering the silence. The black bullets etched with some script don't even graze me—they just plop to the ground harmlessly.
See? Boring. If you wanna play with me, at least shoot gravity balls at pistol range. Kihihi.
What's the monster doing? Writing names in a death note or something? I tilt my head, peering closer, and it snaps shut a thin white-covered book, smirking confidently.
"In the name of the one true god, I command thee! Begone, unclean filth!"
The monster points dramatically, face flushed red with laughter. Huh? A religious monster? Kinda creepy. I feel a faint tickle on my mana barrier, like a hand brushing it. Divine power or something? Doesn't seem all that devout anyway.
Should I hit it with this line? "Silence, you heretic!" I readjust my grip on the wand's handle and drop it precisely on his crown. The monster's face, identical to a normal human's, crumples like a doll under a hydraulic press. Ah, hilarious expression.
Squiiiish! Killing monsters is always such a joy. Kihihi.
I lift the wand just before it grazes the ground. Aside from the monster's shitting noise, the night's silence remains intact! Wow, power control—clean and precise. With a pleased glow, I gaze at the widely grilled sticky blood patty. The blood streams artfully avoid my feet.
The remaining men's pale, ashen faces are smeared with sticky red makeup.
Alright, finishing touches! I swing the wand horizontally with a light flourish.
Spluuurt. Thud. Splorch splorch. With a refreshing splash, the two half-left villains collapse, spilling their guts.
Ah, intestine smell's the worst. Too bad it's outdoors—laundry's a pain. It takes more time than you'd think. Excluding the monster, the villains twitch, trying to regenerate. No barrier up, so it's faster than usual. Kinda mystical, really. The Magical Girl Laws.
"Guh—!"
A villain with only his upper body restored wails in agony. Pop. This kind-hearted magical girl pops his head to ease the pain! If you'd lived decently, my hits wouldn't hurt a bit! The ugly watermelon bursts, spewing red juice. I cast a barrier with magic simultaneously. Eh, the Laws would've handled it anyway.
Ah, like this. I carve a small cylindrical hole in the solid asphalt road. City infrastructure damage, but there's probably some special law for it. Whatever. I shove the sticky fragments one by one into the pit. They'll regenerate neatly inside. Please work, Magical Girl Laws!
After a rough auto-wash-and-bind, I telekinetically open the van door—don't wanna get close. The grubby victim huddles quietly, asleep. Male characters are a no-touch zone. Mana feels gross too. Ahem. I rummage through his pockets for a phone. I don't carry one myself.
Found it. They got ambushed, so no time to ditch belongings. It's worn, urine-stained from use. As I pull it close to report... huh? Amid the regenerating blackening remains, that book from earlier drops out. Loot drop?
It's writhing like possessed, greedily sucking up the darkening stains on the ground. Looks just like a robot vacuum. No bad vibes from my senses. Despite the action, it feels like an ordinary object, colorless and unremarkable. I try grabbing it telekinetically.
Hmm. Subtle resistance. A novel texture repels my mana, rejecting telekinesis. Small mana fails? Then bigger mana! Even bigger! Mana comes from national power... er, raw output anyway! I yank the tantrum-throwing book a bit harder.
Cute little rebellion. Flipping it open, black pages filled with white chuunibyou scribbles. Six pages total—basically the intro to some shitty fantasy novel. You know, the "god does this" opener. Thought it'd be thin and smutty. Doesn't seem to cause mental corruption on open. Or does it? For some, the boring content might count as corruption.
I try twisting it telekinetically to shreds, but... what? Super tough. Stronger than intense tentacles? Squeeeeek!! Amid the grinding mana compression, a pitiful cry echoes.
Eh? What is this? Why such a cute sound? Makes my resolve waver. Still, no. Back in the hole. No matter how cute, it was used by a fanatic monster. Suspicion lingers. Leaving this be? Webnovel logic says disaster by chapter 50. Guild reclaims it, someone reads and corrupts. That cry almost made me befriend it—if this were another world. Nearly mascot material! No choice. Gotta go a bit serious.
Bookie! Just the edge! I re-squish the heads of the regenerating monster minions screaming from the pit and reinforce the barrier. Magic wand: "Deploy."
The staff's tip unravels sealing threads. The square seal undergoes phase transition, deploying from Menger sponge to Mandelbrot fractal. I halt it before it erodes dimensions. At its center stands a blade embodying colorless void compression—unity of existence and nonexistence.
My hair ignites into prismatic white light. Strands' afterglow crackles, boiling the vacuum. Vast white ocean in my eyes surges blue. The thinly crimsoned limbic ring halts the first chapter of the halo blooming above my head. Scattered white locks embroider glossy lines in the darkness, diffracting rainbows that madly scramble the barrier interior.
"Anglabe."
A solemn incantation resonates. Simultaneously, at void's end, a drop of light neutron-degenerates into form. I shake the handle, leaving iridescent rainbow afterimages as the tiny photosphere zaps the floating book.
Squeak, squeeee! Pwaa... pwi...
The book wails cutely in death throes before vanishing without a speck.
"Seal."
The refraction-light projectile yearning to fly neutralizes into the void beyond and fades. The wand reverts to familiar hammer form in an instant. Clean. Incineration's always the answer. Purify, report, done? Kihihi.
Just before dawn. A dozen cops bustle within the cordon.
"So, these guys were kidnappers?"
"Y-yes."
"Passed out, and now it's like this?"
"Y-yes."
"No idea who called it in?"
"N-no clue."
Detective Kim smacks his lips, eyeing the shivering man on the ambulance stretcher. Park Junho, a shabby 9th-grade Awakened ability user registered with the Association, no priors. A dime-a-dozen superpowered laborer in this era. Paju's fixed gate nearby, no anomalous mana signatures. And his instincts aren't pinging.
Strange times, full of weird cases. The report from Park's phone—nothing but screams. He'd expected to just clean up corpses.
"Sergeant Huh! All extracted?!"
"Yes, boss! No major injuries, but these guys seem mentally broken. Gotta send 'em to the center for contamination checks first?"
Sergeant Huh, a 7th-grade magic-system Awakened, excavates the men embedded in the asphalt. No severe wounds, but their faces are uniformly pallid.
"Officer Lee, mana readings?"
Officer Lee adjusts his glasses, checking the big meter. "All normal. Looks like a Weird Phenomenon."
"We'll investigate. Don't jump to conclusions."
Detective Kim says that, but he's leaning Weird too. The nutjobs keep muttering "Weird, it's a Weird. Save me." He figures whoever buried them did it meticulously—Weird cases always fry minds. And Park's kidnapping claim. That word's been tickling his brainstem.
Linked to the capital region's disappearances? Suddenly, he craves a smoke.